


Sitting Upon The Throne

by Amymel86



Series: The Prince Jon Collection of Ficlets [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Jon Snow is a Prince, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Spanking, Unrelated chapters, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: A ficlet in which Ned never found Lyanna and Jon at the Tower of Joy. Lyanna still perished and Ser Arthur Dayne spirited the infant Jon away to Essos. Years pass and after hearing of a Dragon Queen seated in Meereen, Arthur and Jon join Daenerys before she attacks King's Landing. Dany perishes in the battle, leaving Jon to begrudgingly accept the throne.Ned was still tricked by Baelish and beheaded at King Joffrey's command. The Purple Wedding and it's aftermath still took place and Sansa is taken to The Vale by Baelish, where he hides her until the success of the Targaryen invasion. The Red Wedding takes Cat's life but not Robb's - King Jon agrees to The North keeping it's independence and is betrothed to his cousin Sansa.





	Sitting Upon The Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vivilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/gifts), [Janina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/gifts), [wolfwithwoodenteeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/gifts).



> This will be my first chapter for a series of ficlets where all mini stories feature Jon being aware of his parentage. In some, Raegar would have won, in others not - each new story will have an introduction.
> 
> A small gift for vivilove, Janina and Lemoncake_Chioni because I love everything they write, and I can always count on encouraging comments on my rambling fics :-) Thanks guys!
> 
> PS - I apologise for any typos - this one was typed out super quickly and I plan to go back over it to correct anything - please do highlight any that you find to me - thanks :-)

Jon sighed as he seated himself on the ugly throne that was now to be his. This hadn't been the original plan. Dany was meant to rule, not him. That was how it had meant to go, ever since she'd convinced him to help her take back the Seven Kingdoms - it was meant to be her. And then she had gone and got herself killed - knocked clean off of Drogo's back by a well-aimed trebuchet during battle. Jon had not wanted this, he had never wanted this. If it had been up to him, he would have stayed in Meereen, continued to be the Queen's nephew and advisor, found himself a wife and fathered a large brood of children to love.

But now - now instead of a brood of children, he had a realm to nurture instead. Jon stared into the dark of the large, empty unlit hall. All the decisions he will have to make now, all the consequences he will have to consider, all the responsibilities he will have to shoulder. They all weighed heavy on his mind and felt as uncomfortable as the fucking throne itself.

Suddenly, one of the huge double doors to the Great Hall opens with a clink, the sound would have been swallowed up and unheard if it weren't for Jon's isolation in the vast room - as it was, it reverberated off of the walls and pillars, windows and ceiling. A light shone through from the flickering of the sconces in the hall, quickly casting the long shadow of the intruder of Jon's solace, before it was extinguished with the closing of the door, enveloping that section of the hall into darkness once more.

Jon shifted in the huge, uncomfortable chair, annoyed at the presence of another as he heard the slow purposeful click-clack of shoes upon the stone flagged floor. The intruder came into view once they had neared him enough not to be shielded by shadow any longer. Sansa Stark - his soon to be bride. She wore the black dress Jon had had made for her as a betrothal gift - he only now realised how the colour emphasised the pale creaminess of her skin and the red of her hair, the flame of which he was sure could ignite any pyre.

Marrying Sansa Stark had not been his idea, instead the betrothal had been suggested by Lord Baelish who had spirited the Stark girl with him away to The Vale, where his cousin had remained hidden until Jon had succeeded in the attack on King's Landing and the Lannisters with his Aunt's armies behind him. _If you will continue to allow The North it's independence, then an alliance must be made_ , the Mockingbird's voice had slithered into King Jon's ears. _Sansa Stark holds that fine thread that binds the North and South together in her unwed hands your Grace, a match with her would certainly make sense. Besides, her beauty outweighs that of even her Mother's, and with Catelyn's famed multiple successes in the birthing bed, you can be sure she will breed of you many healthy sons. She is still a favourable prospect despite her maidenhead no longer being intact._

Jon had not liked the way in which the duplicitous man had spoken about his cousin, even before they had met. Afterwards, well, he had decided that he was less and less willing to hear what Lord Baelish had to say on the matter. Yes, he was happy to take her to wife - more than happy actually, but he would not hear of her being summed up as simply a royal brood mare. And the issue (or non issue as far a Jon was concerned) of her maidenhead was not at all troubling - he knew of her very brief marriage to Harry Hardying before he was mysteriously found dead. He had not expected that her second marriage would be unconsummated like the first to The Imp.

Jon's eyes took in the slowly approaching figure - a figure that he had admired on more than one occasion now at celebrations and gatherings. He often found himself indulging in thinking on their upcoming wedding night and how he should like to peel those courtly clothes from her and see her hair unbound, setting alight to his pillow. He had enjoyed speaking with her too - she had told him that he had his Mother's 'the look of the North' and that this pleased her as she felt a little at home with him even down here, in the south. Jon had liked that - her compliment had not been about his skill at battle or the grandeur of his lineage, but something altogether more humble in her own comfort with him. Sansa Stark seemed an intelligent woman - one he hoped would come to love him as he had once imagined his wife would.  The only unsettling thing about the whole arrangement was the frequency in which he noticed her to be in the company of one particular Lord Baelish. Jon did not like that at all.

She wasn't with him now though, they were alone. 

"Lady Sansa" Jon greeted her as he made to rise from his contemplative seat on that wretched throne.

"Please, don't rise on my account your Grace" she responds in a low, raspy voice, her steps not faltering or slowing any as she grew nearer to him. Her gait not altering one bit as she met the steps up to the throne, apart from the hypnotising sashay of her hips becoming more pronounced as she ascended the stairs.

Jon watched her with rapt attention, this being the very first time that they had ever been alone together. He got the feeling that she had not minded him drinking her in so thirstily, eager to let his eyes roam her figure and face, trying to gauge what was to become of this unfamiliar meeting of theirs. To his surprise, she did not stop a respectable distance away from him. No, she kept up her purposeful, delicate strides until she was stood directly before him, the beaded brocade of her black skirts now touching with his casually splayed knees. Jon gaped up at the beautiful woman before him before she promptly dropped to her knees and places one hand on each of his thighs. He tried and failed at suppressing the base thoughts at her proximity and position. She squeezed his thighs and stared intently up at him with those blue lagoon eyes before she began to whisper.

"I need to be truthful with you my King".

Jon licked his lips and returned her whispers. "About what my Lady"?

"HE wanted me to do this your Grace".

"Who?....Who wanted you to do what?....and please just call me Jon"

"Littlefinger".

Jon's blood ran cold at the mere mention of that insufferable Lord. 

"It was his idea for me to seduce you" She continued in her low voice "he wanted to secure you with my hand in marriage....he wants for you to put a few babes in me, preferably sons and then to do away with you". Her gaze drops to his chest "I'm not sure how he plans to do that part" Sansa's eyes meet his again before she presses on "he wants all the power you see, he fancies that he would rule one day by becoming my fourth husband and regent for our sons". Jon's breath is caught in his throat as her stare becomes sharp and ice-like, she says the next words quietly and deliberately slowly "I want no part in his plan".

"I see" Is all Jon can whisper out past his lips. Sansa's hands smooth upwards on his inner thighs.

"Do you?...It's not the marriage part of his plans that I find disagreeable Jon. In fact, I should very much like to carry out that part of his plotting - that is, if you'll still have me after what I have just divulged to you....but I cannot live in a world where HE commands the realm and I do not want to be his wife....I want to be yours". Sansa bites her lip and allows her eyes to wander an appraising trail down Jon's torso, briefly landing on and widening slightly at the now visible bulge under his breeches that starts at the juncture of his legs and grows down his left thigh, ending dangerously close to where Sansa's fingers rest. "Even if you would not take me as your wife, I should very much like for you to help me with something Jon.....will you help me"?

 _Yes! I'll help you with anything you desire!_ He wants to desperately shout, but given what she had just admitted to being privy to all this time, he keeps it to himself. "With what would you like my help my Lady"? he asks instead.

Sansa lowers her eyes briefly, her lashes fanning out over her milky skin, her cheeks topped with a natural pinky hue that Jon fancies he had brought on himself. "he is here" she whispers, carrying on after an unknowing look leaves Jon's face. "Lord Baelish... he's here, in this room....don't look up, but he is up to our left, keeping to the shadows of the gallery balcony, watching us now - that is why I whisper, it's why I got so close" the blush on her cheeks quickly becomes a pretty crimson of sorts and her breath starts to become a little laboured, causing her chest to visibly rise and fall. "But now that I am in this position..." her eyes fall to the bulge in his breeches once more, she licks her lips tortuously and Jon feels like all of his clothing has suddenly become too tight and too hot. "Now that I am in this position" she repeats, now looking up at him "an idea comes to mind".

"What idea is that my Lady" Jon croaks hoarsely.

"He wants me you know....he has pushed me onto Harry and now is trying to do the same with you, encouraging me to spend time with you and entice your affections....but he hates it....especially with the way that you look so....Northern" Sansa says the last word with a smile. "It reminds him of a past love that he lost to The North many years ago and it pains him to think of you touching me, even though he knows it to be crucial to his little plan" Her mouth twists into a smirk before she continues "He of course expects that all that should happen within our marriage bed, behind the closed doors of your royal chambers but....." once again, she eyes his hard cock "...but what if we were to _show_   him"?

"Show him"? Jon parrots in disbelief.

"Yes.... _show him..._ he wouldn't be able to stand it you see, me being intimate with you, it would twist his gut like a dagger.....and I do so wish for that dagger Jon"  Sansa smooths her left palm up and over the swelling contained by his breeches making him hiss in delighted surprise before she traces around his cock with one finger. "Would you allow me use of your _dagger_ Jon"?

All he can do is nod - nod and fixate on the way her tongue slowly wets her lips as both hands move to untie his breeches. He catches her chin with his fingers before she reaches into the confines of his trousers to free him for her attentions. "and what of after - after our _show"?_

"Well, you should have him killed of course - by trial and execution or snuffing out his life's flame in the night, it makes no difference to me...as long as he endures _this_ suffering before he leaves the earth for I have encountered so much more suffering under his hand than I care to admit".

Jon leans down, his face mere inches from hers, he smells the sweet tang of her breath as her eyes hold his. "Consider it done my Lady" he whispers. "And what of our marriage - you would still entertain becoming my wife after there is no one left to put on any _shows_ for"?

Sansa smiles brightly and mischievously. "Oh but there will be Jon - I shall enjoy performing for my husband and him alone....that is, if he'll still be willing to participate"?

His only response is to bridge the gap between them and take a kiss from her soft sweet mouth. Sansa moans into that kiss and it sets off a similar, low growl of a reply from deep within his throat. Once their lips part he is pleased to see a slightly dazed, lust filled look to her eyes. Sansa licks her lips as Jon leans back on his throne and gives her a small nod to bid her to continue.

He's pleased by the hint of an excited gleam to her expression once she frees his cock, wrapping her hand around it and pulling it out from his breeches. Sansa strokes him up and down slowly a few times before taking a long lick up the length of the underside of him, keeping her eyes intent on his. Jon lets out a groan when she encases the head of his cock in her warm wet mouth, swirling her talented tongue around him and sucking ever so slightly before releasing him with a smack of her lips and a hungry appreciative noise. That's when Jon hears it, the sound of minute movement from up above them - someone shifting their shoes on the cold of the floor. As soon as it reaches his ears, it stops. The look that Sansa gives him tells Jon that she heard it too as she grins from her kneeling position, hand still firmly grasping him.

Jon's breaths start to become ragged once Sansa's mouth is locked around him, her head bobbing up and down, her tongue teasing him and her eyes boring into his, occasionally fluttering closed as she moans like she's enjoying this as much as he is. He's not quite sure what to do with his hands and is grateful when she guides one of them to the back of her head - he wonders briefly if she does this as part of her 'show' or because she wants it there. His other hand quickly gets occupied when she laces her fingers with his, holding it firmly and reassuringly like she is trying to communicate something to him.

After pulling all manner of groans and grunts, moans and loud sighings of her name, Lady Sansa releases Jon's cock from her mouth and rises to stand between his legs. He looks up at her a little dazed, her hair gloriously messed and dishevelled from his pawing as she pleasured him. He's about to ask if something is wrong before she speaks, louder this time, with no need to whisper anymore. "I can't stand it anymore, I need you Jon".

He's confused at first, until it all becomes clear when she gathers her skirts and seats herself astride his lap, wasting no time in burying both her hands under her dress, one to pull aside her smallclothes and the other to guide him to her wet cunt. She slides down him decadently, a noisy groan of her own making echoing throughout the whole of the hall.

"Fucking hell you're so wet Sansa Stark" he growls.

"Only for my King, Jon Targaryen" Sansa purrs in response. "It seems sucking on your cock affected me more than I'd imagined".

"And how often had you imagined sucking on my cock my Lady"?

"As often as you'd imagined fucking me" Sansa grinned wickedly as she began undulating her hips into a slow grind against him.

Jon raised his brow, a smile to match hers growing upon his lips as his hands bunched up the fabric of her skirts over her behind. "It seems my wife shall be rather dirty minded then" he said, giving her arse a smack, the noise reverberating around the cavernous room. Another small shuffle of feet can be heard from the gallery balcony. Sansa gasps before swiftly taking his lips with hers and shoving her tongue into his mouth whilst breathing heavy through her nose.

"Again" she commands once she breaks their hungry kiss, her forehead touching his and their eyes locked. He slaps her arse cheek again and she whimpers, her grinding now turned to frantic bouncing up and down the length of him, his cock repeatedly being welcomed into her wet warmth. "Again" Sansa whines.

"Fuck me Sansa, ride your King's cock my sweet Lady" Jon growls into her shoulder as he rains a few more spanks on her behind. "Good girl....good girl" he rasps when her bouncing becomes more frenzied. One of Lady Sansa's hands is tangled in his hair, the other reaches up above him, holding onto one of the many blades that make up his throne, he distantly wonders if it hurts her to grip it so tightly.

Jon twirls his tongue over the rise of one of her breasts as it heaves with Sansa's ragged breath over the corset of her dress. She moans loudly and he wishes they had taken the time to undo her lacings and push her dress down to expose her teats so that he may suck them into his mouth and tease them with his tongue - they have time for that, he decides and vows that he'll spend time each day of their married life dedicated to worshipping her body. The Old and the New gods be damned - his wife will be the only deity he'll surrender to.

"Oh Jon, you feel so good" she whimpers in a half sob, half whisper, making him wonder why she'd kept her voice low - wasn't the original point of this to make Littlefinger suffer? The only reasoning he can pluck from his base mind being that this was no lie to egg him on, no untruth to proclaim in front of the voyeur up in the gallery - nothing but absolute truth, the revelation of which made him want more of those whimpers.

Jon gripped her hips and began thrusting up into her with loud grunts. He could feel a slow trickle of her wetness gradually roll down the side of his tight balls as he continued to relentlessly buck up into her. Jon moves one of his hands so that his thumb can play with her pearl, rubbing it in circles, increasing the pressure when he is granted with a pleased squeal from his future wife.

"Oh Gods Jon!.....uuunghhh...I'm close....aaah..." Sansa cries as his thrusting jostles the now loose strands of her copper hair with each buck of his hips. "oh yes! YES"! she yells, her pleasured sob filling the large room and becoming a presence of its own before Jon feels her cunny flutter and pulse around him and with two more strangled cries of his own and a couple more frenzied thrusts, he fills her with his release.

It's after, when they're both still panting, Sansa having collapsed fully on top of Jon, his cock now sated and only half hard but still inside her, when she whispers again. "He will die won't he Jon? Promise me I'll be rid of him".

"Yes. You'll be rid of him. I'll do it myself, tonight". Sansa rears back slightly so that she can look him in the eye, her face full of question. "There is hardly any suffering in a beheading" Jon clarifies.

"You don't think witnessing us like this was suffering enough then"?

"No" he says, cupping her soft, warm cheeks in both hands. "Not even death is punishment enough for anyone who dares hurt my wife".

Sansa lets out a single tear that Jon brushes away with his thumb, a tiny sob rushes past her lips before she crashes them with his and kisses him forcefully.

Before he can start to plan the dark ways in which Lord Baelish will suffer at his hand in a few minutes time, he allows himself one lighter thought -

_Perhaps that fucking ugly chair isn't so bad after all._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
